


i'm livin' in lucid dreams

by crookedfelicities



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfelicities/pseuds/crookedfelicities
Summary: Sylvain’s fingers are very warm. His thumb is brushing against the pulse point of Felix’s neck.“Just trust me on this,” he says. And then he leans forward and kisses Felix.Felix has known Sylvain for most of his life. Since they were kids. They’ve done a lot of stuff together. They’ve never done this.*In which Felix and Sylvain are in a band together and end up fake dating. For reasons.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my AO3 debut and it's been a loooong time since I wrote any fic, so please be kind. 
> 
> Title is taken from a Franz Ferdinand song. 
> 
> I'm @crookedfelicity on twitter. Come nerd out with me!

It’s late on a Friday night and Felix is a little drunk and a lot tired. The club The Blue Lions played at is nice enough, but they were one of the first bands on and that was hours ago and now Felix just wants to get back to their shitty hotel and go to sleep. But Ingrid insists that showcases like this are prime networking opportunities and they all need to stay to make _connections_.

So far, the only connection Felix has made is with the bartender, several times over. He’s spent most of the night leaning against the sticky counter watching the bands with decreasing interest. They’re not bad, but he knows his own is better and it rankles they got one of the worst time slots. Maybe Ingrid is onto something about making friends in high places, even if Felix isn’t sure how to go about that himself. So far several people have looked him over and then very visibly decided not to talk to him. He should probably feel guilty about that, but he’s mostly just relieved.

It’s after midnight when Ingrid finds him.

She hails the bartender and then looks at Felix, eyebrows slanted downwards in a way that means she’s displeased.

“You could at least try to look approachable.” She has to lean in to be heard over the music. “There are people here we should make a good impression on.”

“I already made a good impression up there,” Felix says, nodding to the stage.

“It’s not as simple as that.”

When Felix sighs the sound is lost in the noise from the club. He can feel the puff of air leave his lips, but its impact is swallowed. It’s not that he doesn’t understand what Ingrid is saying--he’s tired of playing the same smalltime gigs over and over again too. If they don’t start making more money than they spend pretty soon they’ll all have to come up with a different plan, and none of them have any backups. At the beginning of this year Felix was sure they were poised on the edge of something big, but his gut feeling has been about as accurate as a fortune cookie. He knows that Ingrid’s feverish enthusiasm for networking is just her way of trying to help them all, pushing them one step closer to the breakout they so desperately want. Felix is trying too. It’s just that all his trying goes into the music.

“I get it,” he says.

“What?” Ingrid shouts, so Felix leans in closer to speak in her ear.

“I get it, Ingrid. But I think it’s best if I stick with singing at people, rather than talking to them. The rest of you are better at that part.”

Ingrid’s nose wrinkles. “Ashe, maybe. But I’m not sure of the sort of connections Sylvain’s making are the ones that will get us anywhere.”

Felix snorts out a laugh, even as something in his gut clenches a little.

Ingrid gets her drink and lays her hand atop Felix’s. “At least try and look like you’re having a good time.” Then she disappears into the crowd again, sliding through strangers with a polite smile and some very strategic use of elbows, all while not spilling her drink.

The only way Felix is going to look like he’s having half so much fun as most of the people here is if he gets significantly more drunk, so he hails his one measly connection down to order a vodka tonic.

Another hour goes by and Felix isn’t sure if it’s reflected on his face, but he _feels_ more approachable. Two girls sat down next to him about ten minutes ago and he didn’t even glare at them when the louder one lost her balance and bumped into him, just carefully steered her back into her own space. Ingrid would be proud.

That’s where he is, trying to stake out a small amount of personal space at the bar while not losing fans, when Sylvain comes rushing through the crowd towards him.

“Felix, hey.” Sylvain doesn’t really have a concept of what personal space is, so he wedges between Felix and his new neighbors as though he thinks himself a much smaller person. It’s hard to tell in the low light, but he looks more flushed than even the stuffy club air warrants. He peeks over his shoulder quickly then turns back around and snags Felix’s drink. He takes a sip and then makes a face. “Blergh, why are you drinking vodka?”

“I always drink vodka,” Felix says.

Sylvain sets the cup down on the counter. He looks over his shoulder again, winces, and then leans in even closer. His eyes are wide and very earnest. “Hey, remember last week when you forgot your wallet and so I bought you lunch and you said, ‘Thanks, I owe you’?”

“Yes,” Felix answers warily.

“Great. Well I’m calling in that favor. I’m going to need you to just go along with this and not punch me until later, okay?”

“What do you—” Felix starts to say, then cuts off abruptly when Sylvain reaches out a hand and rests it against his jaw. Sylvain’s fingers are very warm. His thumb is brushing against the pulse point of Felix’s neck.

“Just trust me on this,” he says. And then he leans forward and kisses Felix.

Felix has known Sylvain for most of his life. Since they were kids. They’ve done a lot of stuff together. They’ve never done this.

He’s is too surprised to do anything but stand there, making note of the fact that Sylvain’s lips are even warmer than his hands. Sylvain is so close that their chests are pressed together and Felix is being pushed back into the bar.

He would never, ever admit this to anyone, but Felix has imagined this happening before. The thought slipped under his skin like a splinter years ago, when they were still teenagers and before the band was even a thing, and he’s never quite managed to dig it out. There have been points in time where he thought he had, only to watch Sylvain with someone else and discover that the splinter remained, fractured under his skin. Sharp edges emerging to poke at him just when he least wanted the reminder. So yeah, Felix has thought about this before but in his head, Sylvain was never kissing him for dubious reasons in a crowded club where anyone could see.

Felix finds it doesn’t matter. He’s either drunk enough or desperate enough that he doesn’t care. Probably both.

When Sylvain pulls back just a little bit Felix reaches up and clasps the back of his neck to draw him back in.

_Try to look like you’re having a good time_ , Ingrid had said. So Felix does. The voices fade until the only sound is the low pulse of the music, bass thumping hard enough Felix feels it in his throat. There’s just the music and this. Sylvain’s mouth under his, opening a little as the kiss deepens.

Sylvain makes a low humming noise that buzzes against Felix’s lips. He lets himself be crowded further back against the bar with Sylvain’s hands on his face and at his hip and normally he would hate feeling trapped like this but instead it feels like he’s being held up. Like he can just stay there, suspended, with all his attention focused on the artful way Sylvain tilts his chin. The brush of his hair against Felix’s forehead. The bright surge of heat as Sylvain licks into his mouth, just barely.

And then it’s over.

Sylvain pulls back. Not far, because there are too many people around for him to have anyplace else to go, but his hand drops away from Felix’s face and he steps back so that they’re not touching.

“Wow,” Sylvain says.

He’s still close enough that Felix could count the freckles on his face, if only the light were a little better.

“What the fuck,” Felix says, but there’s no venom in the words. He’s pretty sure he’s going to have a coherent thought about this pretty soon, but for the moment his mind is just white noise.

Sylvain looks back over his shoulder again and then slumps against the bar in apparent relief. “Thanks for that. I needed to get out of a tight corner. Got a _liiiittle_ too friendly with someone who wasn’t exactly… single. I told her boyfriend it was an honest mistake but I don’t think he believed me. Needed to throw him off my trail. Ingrid would kill me if I got into a fight here.”

The white noise in Felix’s head shifts. Turns itself up a notch. “So what? You just needed to convince him you weren’t interested?”

Sylvain smiles ruefully and scratches at the back of his neck. The place where Felix’s hand was so recently. “Pretty much. And hey, you really stepped up. We definitely fooled him.”

“Right.” Felix’s mouth feels dry. His temples are starting to throb. A little preview of the headache he’ll have in the morning. That’s all this is. He just had too much to drink.

Sylvain slaps him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re a true friend, Felix. I’m going to go find Ashe.”

Felix watches Sylvain’s back as he disappears into the crowd. Then he finishes his drink, texts Ingrid, and leaves for the hotel by himself.

***

Felix is a light enough sleeper that he wakes up when the rest of his bandmates get back. He hears them out in the hall even before Sylvain opens the door to their room. They’re sharing, of course. Because that’s what best friends do.

Felix hears Ingrid and Ashe out in the hall, their voices hushed, and then the door closes and it’s just Sylvain, stumbling around in the dark as he gets ready for bed.

Felix keeps his eyes closed. Doesn’t move. But the problem with knowing someone really well is that they know you really well too.

“Felix?” The springs of Sylvain’s bed squeak a little as he sits down, just a few feet away. “Did I wake you?”

Felix sighs. He could keep pretending, but Sylvain knows that he’s a light sleeper. Felix has yelled at him countless times before for waking him up just like this. “Yes. Now please stop.”

Sylvain chuckles. “Okay, fair enough.”

Felix thinks that’s it. That everything has gone back to normal and they’re just going to pretend that the aberration in the club never happened. Like this, half asleep and still buzzed, he can almost convince himself it wasn’t even real.

It hurts a bit, but less so than the truth, so Felix is willing to go with it.

Then Sylvain turns over in bed and whispers through the dark at him again. “Felix?”

“Ugh, what?”

“Are we okay? I kinda… cornered you earlier. I was panicking.”

Felix lets himself be silent for a long moment. His heart is pounding. It feels too loud. Too powerful. Like if he hooked himself up to a speaker the whole room would shake from it.

“S’fine,” he says.

“Really?”

Felix had thought that it couldn’t get worse than Sylvain kissing him with the same indifference he did everyone else, but he was wrong. The worst part is that Sylvain apparently regrets doing even that.

“You were right, Ingrid would have killed you if you got in a fight.” Felix is relieved to note his voice doesn’t even sound weird. Just a little scratchy from sleep. “Now can we please stop fucking talking about this and go to sleep? It’s no big deal.”

“Right,” Sylvain says. “No big deal.”

Now it’s Felix’s turn to know too much. Sylvain isn’t nearly as good at controlling his tone and the little catch of relief in his voice is obvious. It’s nice, in a way, that he was worried. At least that means their friendship is important to him. It’s important to Felix too, which is why he tucks everything else away. He’ll dig the feelings out later, maybe, when he needs them for a song. He’s done it before.

For now, he rolls over to face the wall. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Sylvain echoes.

Felix has to wait for the volume of his heart to turn itself down, bit by bit, before he can relax enough to finally fall back asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s a good thing, Sylvain reminds himself now. This is no big deal. Don’t make it weird.
> 
> He stretches, raising his arms casually over his head as he yawns. Sylvain actually has a lot of practice making awkward morning interactions less painful, so he might as well put it to use.
> 
> “Morning, sunshine,” he says, smiling at Felix.
> 
> *
> 
> In which Sylvain definitely makes it weird and a plan is born.

Sylvain wakes up to the sound of rain pattering against the hotel window and the smell of Felix’s shampoo—sweet and sharp like pine needles. The scent drifts through the bathroom door along with the sound of Felix brushing his teeth and for a moment Sylvain lies still, tangled in the thin hotel sheets while he takes in the familiar touchstones in an otherwise unfamiliar space.

He has the strangest feeling—like maybe he was supposed to set his alarm and it never went off. Or that there’s something that he’s forgotten, tickling the edges of his consciousness like song lyrics he only knows the chorus of.

Then Felix walks out of the bathroom and Sylvain remembers suddenly, viscerally, what it is that’s making him feel so strange: he definitely made out with one of his best friends last night. A person who he has also shackled his profession to. A person who once didn’t speak to him for three weeks because he let Sylvain borrow his car and found a pair of panties in it after. Which, alright, was a little skeevy, but in his defense, Sylvain didn’t realize the panties were there. If Felix was willing to freeze him out for something that was entirely (okay, mostly) out of his control, Sylvain hates to think what the fallout will be from this.

It’s probably something he should have considered before kissing Felix in the first place, but he’d been thinking on his feet. The guy who’d been following him had been angry of face and broad of shoulder. He’d also been at least two inches taller than Sylvain himself, which was impressive. In the heat of the moment, Felix had seemed like a much safer option.

It wasn’t until far too late that Sylvain had realized what a ridiculous notion _that_ was. By the time he’d gotten back to the hotel he’d been half convinced that he would have to lock himself in the bathroom and spend the night in the tub so he wasn’t killed in his sleep.

But then, when he’d apologized, Felix had said it wasn’t a big deal.

That’s a good thing, Sylvain reminds himself now. This is no big deal. Don’t make it weird.

He stretches, raising his arms casually over his head as he yawns. Sylvain actually has a lot of practice making awkward morning interactions less painful, so he might as well put it to use.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, smiling at Felix. He starts to sit up, realizes that he’s not wearing a shirt, and then decides that it will be weirder if he starts to care about that now when he never has before, and manages to refrain from clutching the sheet to his chest.

Felix, for his part, is too preoccupied with scowling out the window to notice.

“I fail to see anything good about it,” he says. He’s dressed, but his hair is still down and wet, dripping onto the collar and shoulders of his black t-shirt. “The outdoor show I wanted to go will probably be rained out.”

He seems… completely normal. Sylvain studies the way Felix is angled away from him, trying to decide if there’s some sort of message to be gained there, but it really does seem like he’s just staring out the window. He looks annoyed, but that’s Felix’s resting expression, and the annoyance doesn’t seem to be directed at Sylvain.

He takes note of the circles under Felix’s eyes and the pallor of his skin. “Someone’s hungover,” he remarks. “I thought you said you were going to stop buying overpriced venue drinks.”

Felix turns toward him to tuck his toothbrush back in his bag. “The last few bands were so generic. I had to distract myself from boredom somehow.”

“I can think of better ways to keep you entertained.”

Sylvain doesn’t know why he says it. He’s made it weird when everything was going perfectly fine. But maybe that was the problem. He’d woken up feeling scattered and Felix was just… fine. Unruffled and ordinary. The contrast had been disorienting.

Sylvain can tell the instant the meaning of his words hit home because Felix’s cheekbones turn an interesting shade of pink. He’s frozen in the middle of zipping his bag up and Sylvain is both profoundly sorry that he’s managed to dig himself further into this mess and deeply satisfied that now he’s not the only one having a _reaction_ to whatever happened last night.

Felix’s fingers begin to move again. He finishes putting his toothbrush away and then straightens. “I’m not so easily amused.”

“Ouch,” Sylvain says, clutching a hand to his chest. “My ego is wounded.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Felix mutters. Then he picks up his jacket and says, “I’m going to find tea, you want some?”

“Coffee,” Sylvain says, feeling pleased. They’ve somehow managed to make it back to familiar ground and Felix (miraculously) really doesn’t seem to want to kill him, so this is fine. They can joke about this and it will be fine. Just one of those things that happens when you know someone for too long. He’s pretty sure most friends make out at some point, right?

Everything is normal.

Before Felix finishes zipping up his jacket there’s a pounding on their door. It’s loud and insistent and Sylvain’s first thought is that the angry boyfriend from last night hasn’t given up after all. He’s tracked him down and now Sylvain will have to face him in the cold light of day, and in his underwear, no less.

Then Ingrid’s voice filters in under the door.

“Open up. Now.”

Sylvain lets out his breath and flops back down onto his pillow in relief while Felix goes to let her in. As soon as the door is open Ingrid storms into their room with Ashe on her heels.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Sylvain says, spreading his arms out and flashing a smile at Ingrid, who does not smile back at him.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she says. “Put a shirt on.”

Ashe picks up Sylvain’s shirt from where he discarded it on the floor at the foot of the bed the night before and holds it out to him with a faintly apologetic smile.

“Thanks, man,” Sylvain says. He puts the shirt on, both because it’s unwise to antagonize Ingrid when she’s in this kind of mood and because he’s secretly grateful to have a reason to.

“Can either of you explain to me why I’m the one who had to wake up to a phone call from our manager at 7 am this morning?” Ingrid asks. “The least you could have done was answer Byleth’s calls, instead of making me handle it. Actually, no, I take that back. The least you could have done was tell me what was happening so that I didn’t have to sound like an idiot when she explained it to me.” She’s so mad that she looks on the verge of tears. Her hair hasn’t been brushed yet and she’s wearing last night’s skirt thrown on under an oversized t-shirt.

Sylvain looks to Felix, who looks back at him blankly.

“Huh?” Sylvain says.

“Um,” Ashe says, stepping forward. “Have either of you checked your phones this morning, by any chance?”

Felix fishes around in his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. “It’s dead,” he says, flipping it around to show off the black screen. “I forgot to charge it last night.”

“I think mine’s in my pants, somewhere by your feet,” Sylvain says. “Why, what’s up?”

Ingrid deflates a little. “I think it’s easier if I just show you.” She hands her phone to Sylvain. “Here. Both of you need to see this.”

Sylvain doesn’t move from the bed. Normally he wouldn’t be bothered by showing his off his underwear with this crowd (he’s got on very nice boxer briefs, covered in little orange lightning bolts. Nothing to be ashamed of), but it doesn’t feel like that would be appreciated at the moment. Fortunately, Felix comes to sit next to him so they can both stare down at the video Ingrid's cued up. The freeze frame is too dark and blurry for Sylvain to have any clue what he’s looking at.

Felix presses play.

The first thing that happens is that Sylvain recognizes the song being played. Someone’s picked the last track off of their second album as background music. The vocals come in to layer over the guitar and drums, the slight scratch of Felix’s voice unmistakable. The scene is full of shadows and colored light and it takes a moment for everything to resolve into a picture Sylvain can recognize. And then, suddenly, he realizes he’s looking at the club they played in the night before. Specifically, the bar.

Felix’s breath hitches beside him right as Sylvain recognizes _himself_.

The video is a still a little dark, but the neon blue and violet lights around the bar illuminate the two of them well enough. The glow picks their faces out of the shadows and makes everything around them fade to black. The ambiance matches the song well enough that it could be a low budget music video. Like they planned this, somehow.

Someone filmed them kissing and turned it into a fucking montage.

The kiss itself couldn’t have gone on longer than a minute or so, but through clever editing and use of slow motion the video’s creator has managed to drag it out into something much longer. They’ve added in the lyrics of the song, running along the bottom of the video so that the intensity of the lyrics matches the intensity of the scene as a whole. It’s practically cinematic.

Sylvain is experiencing a very strong sense of déjà vu. He watches Felix’s head tilt up and at the same time remembers what it felt like to have his fingers pressed against the warm expanse of Felix’s throat. It had been… Sylvain brain stutters. He tries to find the right word, can’t, and goes back to watching the video.

The song choice was a good one. It’s one of Sylvain’s favorites to play live because it always feels so urgent—like the only way the song will work is if they all just loose themselves in it. The tiny versions of themselves on Ingrid’s phone certainly look lost. Felix has his hands wrapped up in the same shirt Sylvain has on now and they’re both leaning back into the bar and the chorus is soaring. It all tangles together in Sylvain’s mind until he finds himself thinking: _we look good together_.

“Wow,” he says aloud. “We look hot.”

Felix punches him. Right in the solar plexus.

It’s a hard enough blow that Sylvain drops the phone on the bed and sucks in a wounded breath. “Fuck, o _w_!”

“Shut up,” Felix growls.

Sylvain rubs at his chest. “I’m just stating the obvious. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem,” Ingrid says grimly, “is that twenty thousand people agree with you. And that’s just on Twitter.”

“What?” Felix snaps.

“And the even bigger problem is that _you didn’t fucking tell us_.”

It clicks together in Sylvain’s brain. Ingrid’s teary eyes and Ashe’s worried expression and the general atmosphere in the room ever since they came marching in.

“Whoa,” he says, “wait a minute.”

But Ingrid keeps going. “I can’t believe you would keep something like this a secret when it effects all of us. What happens if you two break up? What happens to the band?”

“The band is going to be fine and we’re not going to break up,” Sylvain explains. “Because we’re not together.”

Ingrid looks pointedly at the phone in his hand. The video is looping round again. Beneath that, Sylvain can now see that the creator has captioned the post. It reads: What I wouldn’t give to have someone write a song like this about me and kiss me like that, followed by several heart emojis.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sylvain says.

Felix, ominously, hasn’t said anything for a little while, but Sylvain doesn’t let that stop him from launching into an explanation of what actually happened. By the time he’s finished, both Ingrid and Ashe are sitting on the bed opposite them and Felix has gotten up to pace back and forth in front of the window.

“So you see, it’s no big deal,” Sylvain finishes.

Ingrid looks back at him. “You are such an idiot.”

“I did this for you Ingrid,” he tells her earnestly. “So I wouldn’t get in a fight. You should be proud of me.”

“I am not.” She stands up decisively and retrieves her phone. “Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to go take a shower and get changed, then we’re going to get some breakfast. And then we’re all going to facetime Byleth so I can watch you explain what happened to her face.”

Sylvain winces. “Fair.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Ashe says, getting up to follow Ingrid. “And for the record, I do think this is better than you getting in a fistfight, Sylvain. The video is actually kind of nice. People seem to like it.”

Felix makes a choked sort of sound. “Like it?”

“Yeah,” Ashe says. “You should read some of the comments.”

“There are comments?” Felix’s face has gone deathly white.

Ashe notices this and says hurriedly, “Only a few. Maybe don’t look at them right away. Or I can summarize for you over breakfast.”

And with that the two of leave.

Felix groans and throws himself down onto his bed face down. Sylvain takes this opportunity to get up and retrieve his pants. “Come on,” he says, once he’s not half naked and Felix still hasn’t moved. “I thought you wanted to be famous.”

“For our music,” Felix says, voice muffled. “not making out on the internet.” He sits up slowly. “This is degrading.”

Sylvain holds back a sigh. Felix’s eyebrows are drawn tight into a mulish expression. The difference between Felix’s sulky moods and his truly angry moods are subtle, but it’s an important distinction to make. One can be coaxed away and the other can only be weathered. The fact that Felix hasn’t left the room yet suggests he’s not feeling truly rageful. Sylvain thinks it’s safe to keep talking.

“Don’t worry about it. This is just a blip. Pretty soon no one will even remember it happened.”

“The internet is forever,” Felix mutters darkly. “If you google my name you can still find photos of me in that godawful school production of Grease that Annette made me do.”

Sylvain knows the photos he’s talking about. The director made Felix slick his hair back and he’s staring into the camera with murder in his eyes. Sylvain had printed one out and framed it as a joke. He kept it on his desk and every time Felix came over he would dump it in the garbage and Sylvain would have to dig it out again.

It would probably be more weird than funny if he printed a photo of them making out, right? Right, he decides.

“This is totally different. It’s not embarrassing, it’s hot. We’re musicians, remember? This is exactly the sort of thing rock stars do. It’s nothing.”

Felix looks at him, eyes sharp. “Nothing, huh?” he says softly.

“Absolutely!” Sylvain says, encouraged. “This will die down in no time.”

***

It doesn’t die down.

Over the weekend the views on the video keep climbing. It migrates to other social media sites. People make their own fanvids, adding hearts and emojis. Someone on Tumblr does a lengthy breakdown of all their other songs, pondering which ones Felix and Sylvain have written about each other. One blurry iPhone video and suddenly everyone is either envious of or hoping to emulate a relationship that doesn’t even exist.

Sylvain would find it all amusing if Felix didn’t get a slightly pained expression on his face every time the video pops into view. He knows Felix is private by nature when they’re offstage, but there’s something a little pointed about his displeasure. Like it isn’t just that he’s embarrassed about what happened, he’s embarrassed it happened with _Sylvain_.

Which is maybe not that surprising.

Sylvain knows Felix has a rather low opinion of his romantic exploits. It’s not something they’ve talked about much, but Felix isn’t super great at hiding his displeasure and Sylvain has heard enough other people voice their own for him to fill in the blanks—the words that would probably go along with the flinty look in his eyes whenever Sylvain mentions something about a hookup.

_Must you be so frivolous, Sylvain?_

_This is irresponsible._

_Your behavior is unbecoming._

_Ungentlemanly._

_Disgraceful._

Alright, maybe Felix wouldn’t say all that. But he definitely seems riled up by the idea that a bunch of anonymous people on the internet think they might be together, even though all those people seem to think it’s a good thing. Sylvain can only assume that means Felix himself thinks it’s a bad thing.

The following week is a little strange, as they try to go back to their normal lives with the video looming in the background. Sylvain is crashing with Ashe that week so he distracts himself with a bunch of video games in between the guitar lessons he teaches. He sees Felix for practice and when they go over to Ingrid’s for pizza on Thursday. Everyone avoids the subject of the video at first, as though it will go away instead of gradually getting bigger and bigger, but finally it can’t be ignored.

“Our Spotify listens have gone up,” Ashe informs them. “By kind of a lot.”

“I noticed,” Ingrid says, nodding. “We’ve got a bunch of new followers in Instagram and Twitter, too.”

“What can I say,” Sylvain says. “I’m just that appealing.”

Felix snorts. “Right, it’s all about you. How typical.” But he’s half smiling, so that’s alright.

Then, on Saturday, Ingrid shows up to practice breathless and smiling.

“Byleth just called me,” she says. “We’ve been asked to play on a late-night show.”

***

The show isn’t live, but they’re informed in advance that they won’t stop taping if unless something goes catastrophically wrong, so they better get it right the first time through.

They were all a little more mindful of what to wear than they would be for a normal show, and Ingrid carefully applied eyeliner for both Ashe and Felix in the dressing room. Sylvain declined the offer. He tried it once and Felix told him he looked like a goth clown. He wasn’t wrong.

Byleth is there, her presence calming amid the unfamiliar bustle involved in filming. The band who had been scheduled for today had to cancel last minute and so the show contacted her because they’re trending on Twitter. They’re playing the song from the video. It’s not even a question. It’s suddenly their most played track on Spotify and Sylvain even heard it in the convenient store when he was buying potato chips the other day. He’s _never_ heard one of their songs on the radio before.

“We all good?” Ashe asks, before they go out to take their place.

They’ve played so many shows together, but this is new and it happened so quickly that all of them are a little dazzled by it.

Sylvain reaches out and pinches Ingrid on the arm.

“Ouch!”

“Yup, not a dream,” he says, winking at Ashe. “We’re good.”

“Let’s do this,” Felix says, voice low.

They go out. They stand there, waiting for their cue. When it comes, Ashe’s steady beat on the drums launches them into the song.

The acoustics are a little unforgiving compared to live shows, but Sylvain knows they sound good. It’s one of those times where they’re all perfectly in sync. Felix leans into the mic and he’s looking at Sylvain while he sings and this is nothing different from what they’ve done at countless shows except that now everyone who watches is going to thing that he’s singing to Sylvain. That this song is actually about him.

And for a moment, Sylvain wants that to be true.

The thought makes him step just a bit closer, until they’re in each other’s space. There’s nothing indecent about it, they’ve both got guitars so it’s impossible to get really close, and he doesn’t want to spook Felix while they’re recording. He just wants to… chase whatever this is.

And then, impossibly, Felix keeps the moment going. A break in the words comes and he steps away from the mic and now he and Sylvain are even closer, playing more for each other than the cameras pointed at them.

The song continues and Felix has to return to his mic but the energy remains. The lights around them glow softly and, _oh_ , someone did their research because they are exactly the same shades of violet and blue as the lights from the club. Ingrid and Ashe never let the beat falter and and every note Felix sings hits just right, like a knife through the ribs that you ask for again and again.

By the time the song is over Sylvain is filled to the brim with something nameless and euphoric. He’s breathless with it.

***

Sylvain’s still riding that high as they pack their instruments back up into the van.

“That was awesome. That was so awesome, right?”

Felix has been quiet ever since they left the bright lights of the soundstage behind. “That was… something,” he says, frowning a little at the ground. Sometimes he gets like this after a particularly good show, so Sylvain doesn’t think too much of it. It’s like Felix pours too much of himself out on stage and then has to gain back whatever he’s given away up there. His eyes go distant and his voice loses its edge as he retreats inward. This is probably just like that.

“I think we sounded really great,” Ashe chirps. “Byleth did too. She told me so before she left.” Sylvain high fives him, feeling validated.

“You’re right, it was good,” Ingrid says. She closes the van door and then turns around to look at Sylvain. “But what was up with the two of you?” She waggles a finger back and forth between him and Felix. “What was that?”

Felix brushes the offending finger out of his face. “That was a performance,” he says, voice flat.

Sylvain is used to the kick of adrenaline that comes from performing on stage, but there’s something a little different about whatever came over him in front of the camera and is still coursing through his veins now. It’s bubbly like champagne and makes him want to shiver.

Wow, playing on a TV stage is really a whole different animal. He could get used to this feeling.

“Yeah, Ingrid,” he says, “we’re just giving the people what they want.”

Ingrid looks back and forth between them, her fair brows drawn together in consternation. Then it shifts to something a little more contemplative.

“Maybe,” she says slowly, “that’s not such a bad idea.”

“What isn’t?” Felix asks.

“You two being together.”

Things get very quiet. Well, not really quiet, they’re standing near a busy street and the sounds of the city are all around them, but to Sylvain it feels like there’s suddenly a little bubble of silence around the four of them.

“Ha,” he says, just to break it. “Hahaha.”

Felix crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Ingrid. “We. Are not. Together,” he grinds out.

“We told you what happened already,” Sylvain says. This conversation feels a little like rolling down a hill. Like at some point he’s picked up speed and now everything around him is just a confusing blur. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

“I know,” Ingrid says simply. “But look, you have to admit everyone thinking you _are_ together has worked out pretty well for us so far. People like a story.”

“That’s true,” Ashe pipes up. “It’s more romantic.”

“We are not a made for TV movie,” Felix snaps. “We’re a band. All we need to do is make good music.”

“If that were true, a lot more bands would be famous. You know I’m right. Sometimes there’s no controlling or manufacturing what captures people’s interest, but since you’ve managed to do that unwittingly…” Ingrid shrugs her shoulders a little. “Why not ride this wave to shore?”

Sylvain’s not sure if this idea is actually good, or if it’s just that he’s used to Ingrid being the sensible one among them, but the more he thinks it over the more he has trouble coming up with an argument against it.

“Because it’s a lie,” Felix says.

Oh, right. That.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Sylvain says thoughtfully.

Felix’s eyes go wide and Ingrid’s eyebrows rise so high they disappear into her bangs. Ashe makes a small throat clearing noise.

“Not like that,” Sylvain says hurriedly. “I just mean that we don’t actually need to lie to anyone. We just let them think what they want. Maybe lay it on a little thicker than usual when we’re onstage, like today. I don’t see the harm in that.”

Felix’s arms have fallen to his sides now, and his hands are clenched into fists. “It won’t work. The whole thing will fall apart as soon as you find your next random hookup and people realize you make out with _everyone_ , not just me. Either that or they’ll think you’re a cheating scumbag and then we’ll have to deal with a different kind of drama.”

He has a point. But the thing is, Sylvain can tell Felix isn’t entirely against the idea, no matter his protests. If he was, he would be in the van with his sunglasses on, refusing to talk to anyone. Felix has worked so hard to get them to this point. They all have, but Felix has poured all of his efforts into this band with a single-minded focus ever since they started playing together. Music is the only thing Sylvain has ever heard him admit to loving unabashedly and he knows that it kills Felix a little bit that all of his efforts so far haven’t gotten them the success that seemed to come so easily for his brother.

If this is what it takes to give Felix the thing he really wants—the thing they’ve all been hoping for—Sylvain’s willing.

“I just won’t hookup with anyone.”

Everyone gapes at him in open disbelief. Even Ashe. It’s a little insulting.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m perfectly capable of keeping it in my pants for a while.”

“You never have before,” Felix points out.

Sylvain smiles sweetly at him. “I’ve never had a boyfriend to be faithful to before.” Then he reaches out and ruffles Felix’s hair, managing to pull several strands out of his ponytail before Felix slaps his hand away roughly. “I promise not to fool around on you.”

Felix tucks his hair back in place, still staring at him. “You’re serious?”

Sylvain can’t quite name the expression on Felix’s face. They’ve known each other a long time, so this is unusual. Felix usually only displays a small number of emotions and Sylvain thought he’d mapped all of them out a while ago, but this one’s new. Uncertainty, maybe?

“Completely serious.” Sylvain says. “I’m in if you’re in.”

Felix looks at him for a moment longer, quiet. Then he looks at Ingrid and Ashe, who are both watching him expectantly. He takes in a deep breath and whatever new expression Sylvain had briefly glimpsed is tucked away. “Fine,” he says. “I guess we’re doing this.”

Sylvain whoops and slings his arm around Felix’s neck, pulling him in, rough and close. “We’re _totally_ doing this. Operation fake boyfriends is in effect.”

Felix ducks out from under his arm and heads for the van, muttering, “I don’t do PDA.”

“I think the internet would disagree with you, buddy,” Sylvain notes dryly.

Ingrid outright laughs and even Ashe chuckles as Felix gets into the van and looks back at him through narrowed eyes. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Sylvain says easily. “You love me.”

Felix slams the door in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'm not in a band. I do not even play an instrument. Music makes me have a lot of feelings and I like writing about it, but I do not claim to do it accurately.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We should practice.” Sylvain’s voice breaks the calm of the night, slicing through it the same way the glow of the street lights cut through the dark.
> 
> “What do you mean?” Felix asks. They already practice three times a week. Personally, he would have them do more, but Sylvain was the one who insisted he needed some evenings free for the guitar lessons he likes to teach. So he’s not sure what’s come over him now—
> 
> “Practice this.” Sylvain waves a hand back and forth between them. “Being together.”
> 
> *
> 
> In which Felix tries to play it cool.

Felix stands in front of Ingrid’s bathroom sink, tap running, staring at himself in the mirror above. It’s Monday night and The Blue Lion’s have gathered at Ingrid’s apartment to watch their late-night debut. Everyone else is excited, and eating the snacks Ashe brought, and having a grand old time. Felix has excused himself to the bathroom to be overcome by existential dread in private.

After their performance finished taping, he’d been certain they’d done a good job. Yes, there were a few things he could improve upon, but overall he’d been… pleased. But there’s been enough time between then and now for him to second guess everything. What if they didn’t sound as good as he’d thought? What if what felt natural in the moment was really a horrible idea and he and Sylvain look like idiots? Worse, what if Felix looks like an idiot all by himself?

The nerves make him grumpy and snappish so he’s here in the bathroom, glaring at his reflection in the mirror rather than at anyone else.

He lets cold water run over his hands and then ducks his head to splash some on his cheeks.

“Felix!” Ingrid’s voice is faint through the door. “I think we’re on next, come back.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain shouts. “Stop brooding and get out here.”

Felix dries his face off, looks at himself sternly in the mirror, and then opens the door.

“I’m not brooding,” he says, walking over to take his place next to Ingrid on the sofa. They have the television volume turned up too loud and the sounds from the commercial break are overwhelmingly obnoxious.

Sylvain comes in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in his hands. “Sure you are.” There’s a free armchair next to the one Ashe is settled in, but instead he squeezes in between Felix and Ingrid. “I can tell because you always get a wrinkle right here.” He reaches out and flicks the space between Felix’s brows.

“Fuck off,” Felix mutters, rubbing his face. The point of contact feels larger than it should. He’s too aware of it. The same way he’s too aware of Sylvain’s elbow digging into his side, and his leg, pressed up against Felix’s own.

“Looklooklook,” Ashe says, “it’s us.”

All of them turn their attention toward the screen, where the host is holding up a placard with a picture of their album cover. The camera pans over to the stage and then it really is them.

Felix feels strangely removed from himself. Like he doesn’t quite recognize the people he’s watching. And then they start playing and it clicks: This is them. The band at their best, putting on a show.

It’s not until midway through the song that the interplay between himself and Sylvain happens, and when it does Felix watches with the same mixture of elation and horror he’d felt upon seeing the video of them kissing in the club, a little more muted now since at least it’s expected. He’d known there was a camera on him this time.

And he’d done it anyway.

Beside him, Sylvain's attention is wholly focused on the television, eyes rapt. He’s so close the entire right side of Felix’s body feels like it’s buzzing, just from the proximity. It’s a little pathetic.

He’s going to write a song about this later, he can feel it.

Felix remembers when this first became a Thing. A capital T, awake at night, ten different kinds of frustrated, hopeless Thing. Sylvain spent the summer in Europe with his family—not just a two-week trip like they normally did, but an extravagant two months of touring across various bits of European countryside. Sylvain had sent back postcards addressed to Felix, Dimitri, and Ingrid, but they had been sent to Felix’s house and he’d been smugly pleased about it. Which, in retrospect, was probably a warning sign.

The summer had drifted to a close, feeling strangely lacking, and then Sylvain was back. And he had more freckles than Felix remembered over the bridge of his nose, and he’d gotten tall enough that Felix had to tilt his head back to look at his face, which Felix _hated_. All of him seemed to take up more space than before and Felix couldn’t stop noticing and cataloging every little change.

It wasn’t until later that he was able to put a name to the discomfort this caused him. They were in Felix’s bedroom playing covers and Sylvain pulled his guitar strap over his head, revealing arm muscles that Felix could have sworn simply had not existed at the beginning of summer, and then Felix had proceeded to forget the lyrics to almost every single one of the songs he’d previously had memorized.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Sylvain had told him at the end of the night, when Felix was doing just that. “It’s been a while since you’ve had me here to distract you with my stunning good looks.”

He’d been joking, but Felix can still remember the feeling that had come over him, as though he’d been struck by lightning. Utterly shocked and frozen in place. Because it was true: he’d been distracted by Sylvain’s stunning good looks. He was _attracted_ to _Sylvain_.

It was awful.

Before that night Felix had only ever passionately wanted one thing: to make music. The best music he possibly could. Possibly just the best music in general.

After that night, he wanted two things.

It’s pointless knowledge. Sylvain has never shown any sort of interest in being anything but friends, and it’s not like he’s shy. If there were any feelings to be returned, they would have shown up by now.

Also, Felix knows he’s not… the most inviting person. He’s honed his sharp edges over time and he actually kind of likes them. He thinks Sylvain might like them sometimes too, or at least teasing him about being an asshole—but those things are funny when you’re friends, less appreciated when you’re dating someone, as Felix has been informed by several partners.

“You’re just so _mean_ , sometimes,” one of them had said.

Sylvain is fond of telling him the same thing, but in a much different tone. Like maybe it’s not such a bad thing, or at least amusing to him personally.

Felix doesn’t want to ruin that. He doesn’t want to lose the person who looks at him at his worst and finds it somehow endearing. He _hates_ losing. So it’s nothing new for Felix to sit there, feeling like one side of his body is on fire with awareness, just like it’s nothing new for him to ignore the feeling entirely.

When their song is over, the four of them are quiet for a moment. Then Ingrid says, “I could get used to seeing us like that.”

Ashe's phone dings and he smiles down at it, reading texts. “My brother and sister watched. They liked it.”

“Because they have good taste,” Sylvain says. He looks over at Felix. “You’re quiet. Not still brooding, are you?”

“No,” Felix answers. He’s not brooding, he’s thinking. About how they’ve basically planned to act out Felix’s two greatest desires every time they’re on stage together. It’s a crazy idea and he feels crazy for going along with it. “I’m just looking forward to our next show,” he says aloud.

***

Their next show is the following weekend, at a little venue between home and the city. Big enough to draw a decent crowd but small enough for The Blue Lions to be the headliner. They’ve played here before, so Felix thinks he knows what to expect. But when they come back from getting dinner at the burrito place around the corner, there’s a line stretching out from the door and down the sidewalk.

They’re not the sort of band that normally gets recognized before a show. Sometimes fans find them afterwards at the merch table and they talk and it’s all very easy and casual, unless it’s Sylvain doing the talking, and then it’s something entirely different. Point being, there’s usually no reason for them to avoid being seen by their audience before the show. But this time, as they’re walking past the line to get into the venue, a murmur follows them. Then, halfway to the door, a little group jumps out of line to hail them down.

“Hi,” one of the girls says, sounding a little apologetic, a little breathless. She’s standing in front of Felix with her hands knotted together and there’s another guy and girl behind her, grinning awkwardly. “Would you mind signing something for me?”

Felix is too surprised to respond right away. He’s almost inclined to ask her if she’s joking. He’s never been asked for his autograph before. That’s the sort of recognition that belongs to his brother and Dimitri and the rest of The Bores, not to Felix. His music gets reviewed by local collage DJs, while Glenn’s music gets reviewed by Rolling Stone—that’s how it is.

“We wouldn’t mind at all!” Ingrid says, sweeping in while Felix is still standing there, blinking.

They spend a good twenty minutes signing things, because once other people in line see what’s happening, they want in. Felix doesn’t really know what to say to all these strangers, but his bandmates keep up a steady flow of chatter to make up for it.

“What’s your favorite song?” Sylvain asks at one point, and the woman waiting for Felix to finish signing the back of her ticket glances at him shyly before saying, “Azure Moon.”

“Hey, me too!” Sylvain says, grinning.

It’s the song from the video and also now their most played song on Spotify. Felix wonders if Sylvain is just being friendly, or if he actually has a favorite of their songs. He’s never thought to ask before. In fact, Felix has carefully constructed a wall between himself and too much knowledge about Sylvain’s likes and dislikes, because that way lies madness. Now he’s curious.

“I just think the lyrics are really romantic,” the woman says softly.

“That’s our Felix,” Sylvain says, winking. “Ever the romantic.” And then he reaches out and lays his hand on Felix’s shoulder.

Felix starts so badly he drops the pen he was using. He picks it up with a curse, dislodging Sylvain’s hand in the process.

“Enough signing,” Felix says. “We have to get inside.”

Playing this thing up while they’re performing is one thing—Felix always feels like a different version of himself on stage—but right now he’s just himself, standing on the sidewalk with burrito leftovers in a bag around his wrist. Anything he says or does now won’t be pretending, and he’s afraid it will be too obvious without the lights and sound of a show to disguise it.

Later though… later is different.

It’s the first show they’ve played since Ingrid suggested this ludicrous plan. There’s one moment right in the very beginning where Felix suddenly realizes that none of their practices covered how he and Sylvain are supposed to pull this off. They hadn’t planned it during the late-night show either, but what if that was a one-off?

It’s not.

When the lights come up Felix looks over to where Sylvain is standing and finds him looking back. All the uncertainty that kept him stilted and uncomfortable out on the sidewalk fades away and something else takes its place. Felix stops worrying and just sings. The two of them use the stage differently when they’re playing off each other like this, and the energy builds and builds. It’s infectious, changing the way all four of them interact, moving around more, and playing to each other, instead of just to the audience. It’s _fun_. 

During their last song he and Sylvain are sharing a mic and Felix can’t help but look over, cataloging this closeness. Sylvain’s eyelashes are burnished gold in the stage lights. They’re close enough for Felix to see the sheen of sweat collected on his upper lip. When their eyes lock and Felix wonders if he should look away, but the crowd is screaming, and Sylvain is half-smiling while he sings, so he doesn’t.

_This is what you’re allowed_ , he remembers. So he lets himself look now, while it’s safe to pretend.

***

Byleth appears after the show.

“You didn’t say you were coming!” Ashe exclaims when she shows up backstage. They’re all crammed in the performer’s lounge, drinking beer while they wait for the crowd to clear out before they load up the van. The room is a little dingey, and the furniture wouldn’t look out of place on the set of a 70s porno, but it’s comfortable enough.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Byleth says, expression serene as she accepts a beer from Sylvain and sits herself down. Felix has always found her a little inscrutable, but she’s been a great manager. “And I wanted to talk to all of you in person.”

The afterglow from the show that’s been surrounding Felix dims a little. “That sounds ominous.”

“Not at all,” Byleth assures him. “It’s good news, actually. I’ve been contacted by Edelgard von Hresvelg’s team. She wants to know if you’d be interested in opening for a leg of her upcoming tour.”

Sylvain chokes on his beer and Ashe has to spend several minutes thumping him on the back.

Felix stands up, staring at Byleth. “Are you serious?” he asks. “Edelgard and the Seven want us to go on tour with them?”

Byleth nods. “Completely serious. Apparently, she saw the video when it made the rounds, then watched your performance on Monday and was impressed. The spot is yours, if you want it.”

Edelgard and the Seven are massive. Their albums have won awards. They play in major cities all over the world. Felix is pretty sure there’s a Netflix special in the works about them, filming their next tour. The tour that they have just been asked to join.

“Holy shit,” Sylvain says, then he leaps from his chair to tackle Ingrid on the orange velvet couch, dragging Ashe with him. “This is really happening,” he shouts gleefully. “We’re going to be fucking rock stars.”

“Calm down,” Felix says, even though his own heart is pounding.

Ingrid is half crushed under Sylvain and Ashe, but she’s laughing. “Now is not the time to be calm, Felix,” she says. “this is worth freaking out over.”

Felix doesn’t freak out. Not externally, at least. Freaking out isn’t cool, and Byleth is right there, and he’s supposed to be the front-person of this band, which means he has to be at least half as cool as Edelgard, who looks like she never freaks out over anything.

Then Sylvain reaches out a long arm and grabs Felix’s wrist, giving it a sharp tug. Before he can steady himself, Felix is tumbling back into the tangle of limbs on the couch. He struggles to right himself but Sylvain keeps hold of his wrist, Ingrid promptly grabs his other arm, and Ash wraps a hand around his ponytail, laughing.

Byleth watches all of this with a look of amusement. “Am I to take it that this means you’re interested?”

Felix gathers the tattered remains of his dignity as Sylvain snickers into his ear. “Tell them we accept,” he says.

***

Later, after they’ve celebrated with greasy food from a nearby diner and bid goodnight to Byleth, they all part ways. The four of them arrived separately and Ingrid and Ashe are the first to break off, waving as they turn down a side street that leads to the parking garage. Felix and Sylvain continue on through the darkened streets to where Sylvain’s car and the van Felix drove are parked, nearer to the venue.

It’s quiet this time of night. Felix isn’t drunk, the beers were a long time ago, but his shoulders are relaxed the same way they get when he’s buzzed. He feels… content. 

“We should practice.” Sylvain’s voice breaks the calm of the night, slicing through it the same way the glow of the street lights cut through the dark.

“What do you mean?” Felix asks. They already practice three times a week. Personally, he would have them do more, but Sylvain was the one who insisted he needed some evenings free for the guitar lessons he likes to teach. So he’s not sure what’s come over him now—

“Practice this.” Sylvain waves a hand back and forth between them. “Being together.”

Felix’s mouth is very dry. Too dry to swallow. Too dry to speak. It is fortunate, perhaps, that Sylvain is not done talking.

“Not anything weird!” Sylvain says hurriedly. “I just think it would make this thing more believable if we were more comfortable around each other. You know, more natural.”

“Natural,” Felix croaks.

“Yeah! It’ll be a lot easier to put on a show if we have something to draw from, right? And it’s something we’ll have to be more aware of on tour, when people are around all the time. This won’t be believable if you flinch every time I come near you.”

“I don’t flinch!” Sylvain gives him a pointed look and Felix remembers earlier, dropping a pen just because Sylvain touched his shoulder. “You surprised me,” he mutters.

Sylvain hesitates before continuing. “You’re wound pretty tight, Felix. It might be good for you to learn how to relax a bit. Around people, I mean. I’m a people.”

Felix has never felt less relaxed in his entire life. His shoulders are tight again. He is so strung out with wanting that it feels like a physical pull on his limbs, every sinew stretching. The soft hairs on the back of his neck have risen with need. His fucking hair follicles are yearning.

“I am not opposed to practice,” he says stiffly. “If you think it would help our stage presence.”

Sylvain’s face lights up. “Great! How do you feel about hugs?”

Felix just barely stops himself from scoffing. What is this, an afterschool special? “I don’t have any particular feelings about them.” He pauses, before admitting, “I’m not particularly good at them.”

“Well, that’s what the practice is for,” Sylvain says. “Incoming.” Then he swoops in and wraps his arms around Felix.

Felix just… lets it happen. There’s enough time for him to dodge, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He can’t remember the last time someone tried to hug him. Annette, probably, but he has no memory of the actual experience. Most people don’t try. Their self-preservation instincts are too strong. He stands there, arms by his sides and surrounded by the solid press of heat that is Sylvain.

It's possible he has more feelings about hugs than previously realized. 

“You know, if we were actually boyfriends, you’d maybe want to hug me back,” Sylvain says into his ear. “But we can work up to that. You might even like it.”

Felix already likes it more than he can stand so he takes a deep breath and extricates himself from the embrace. Sylvain lets him go easily, looking pleased with himself.

“Maybe next time,” Felix tells him.

“That’s the spirit,” Sylvain says. 

He lopes across the street and gets into his car. Felix leans against the door of the van and watches him drive away. And then he keeps standing there, dazed. It’s still early enough in the summer that the night has a distinct chill to it, but he can also hear the hum of frogs and crickets from the river running parallel to the road. The air smells like new growth.

Felix closes his eyes and inhales.

He goes home and stays up until dawn writing a new song before collapsing. When he wakes, he won’t have a clear memory of how the lyrics came to him, just the sensation of something unfurling, green and new.


End file.
